Category Archives: Corndogs

As of today, I have been on the road for exactly six months. I can hardly believe it. Seems like just a few weeks to me, and yet, when I consider how much ground I’ve covered since leaving San Francisco, how far away my life as an office denizen feels, and how many truly lovely people I’ve been privileged to meet along the way, it seems like an awful lot for such a short period of time.

One of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken. Steven, of Yap.

In this edition of Some Stuff, I bid adieu to the islands I’ve visited since New Year’s Day 2014, in Micronesia and the Philippines (I know the Philippines is officially categorized as part of Southeast Asia, but it’s also one of the Pacific island nations, so I’ll cover it here). There are so many wonderful people and amazing things I will remember fondly from my travels around the Pacific. Without repeating things I’ve already written in other posts, here are just a few.

Everything’s Pretty in Saipan

Saipan

Banzai Cliffs in Saipan

Saipan is pretty. It’s quiet and lush and the water is so blue it looks fake, like it was dyed with Tidy Bowl toilet cleaner. But, when I say everything is pretty in Saipan, I mean everything is “Pretty” in Saipan.

Kokoda, Kelaguen & Corndogs

Foodspotting App.

I hope I don’t hurt anyone’s feelings by saying that I don’t think the food is the best reason to travel to Micronesia. The Philippines, yes. But, Micronesia’s culinary offerings are, to me, a bit less of a draw, in part because of the difficulty of obtaining fresh ingredients, other than fish and taro root. That’s just my opinion, but I don’t think I’m alone in it. In fact, the Foodspotting app—which uses GPS to direct foodies to delicious dishes in their immediate proximity—recommended popcorn at K-Mart as one of the top lunch options in Guam. This, I don’t understand, when there are corndogs on that island.

Yes, corndogs! There is a Wienerschnitzel inside the airport, and a Hot Dog on a Stick in the Micronesia Mall, where, on weekdays, it’s buy one get one free. I was so happy! By the time I left, the girls at the Hot Dog on a Stick and I were on a first name basis.

As much as I would like to try, one cannot live on corndogs alone, and there are a couple of stand out Micronesian foods that I still crave.

Kokoda

Kokoda is the Marshall Island’s coconutty take on ceviche. It’s a soupy concoction of lime-marinated seafood—squid, fish, clams, whatever is fresh—with chopped tomatoes, onion, cilantro and coconut milk. You scoop it up with salty tortilla chips and wash it down with beer. So delicious, so rich, so messy.

Kelaguen is Guam’s culinary crowning glory (if you don’t count barbecued fruit bat, which is illegal now). Saipan’s, too. A Chamorro specialty, it is actually pretty healthy, and would be a huge hit with anyone watching carbs, or looking for a unique dish to bring to a barbecue or potluck. Every local family has its own recipe, and most of it is inexact kitchen science; a little of this, a little of that, spicy or not, as you like. Originally, kelaguen was made of minced raw fish or shrimp, cooked only in the acid of lemon juice. Today, the one I saw most prevalently was made with barbecued chicken, but you see it at the night markets made with any and all types of lean protein, including beef, shrimp, fish or even octopus. Some add shredded fresh coconut, usually to chicken or fish versions, but I prefer it without. It’s served by itself with “titiya” flatbread, as a salad topping, or as a side dish with barbecue, or grilled fish. Here’s the recipe and instructions I got from Randy, the ATV driver on my jungle safari, after we bonded over a mutual love for kelaguen. It’s his family’s recipe.

Randy’s Chicken Kelaguen

Barbecue a whole chicken, cut into parts, making sure to get it black in places, so the flavor of the smoke and char gets into the chicken meat, without drying it out. (You could use a rotisserie chicken, but Randy says it’s best to barbecue the chicken yourself, so you can make sure it’s good and charred and smoky.) Let cool, and remove skin and bones.

 Chop the meat very finely. The chopped bits should be about the size of grains of rice. You can use a food processor, or if you have some aggression to get out, a Chinese cleaver works well, too. Transfer chopped chicken to a mixing bowl.

 Finely chop about six or so scallions, and add to the chicken. You could use a red or a Spanish onion, if you prefer, or a combination, but the classic has scallions.

 If you like a little spice—and Randy and I both do—finely chop a Serrano, jalapeno, or bird chili—any hot pepper of your choice—and add as much or as little of that as you like. You can take the heat level down and keep the flavor by removing the seeds and ribs before you chop the chili. Add to the chicken and onions.

 Add the juice of one large lemon, and toss to coat well.

 Season to taste with salt and pepper.

 If you want to add some coconut (I don’t care for it in this), mix in a handful of FRESHLY grated, unsweetened coconut. Don’t even think about using dried coconut. If you do, the police will spontaneously show up at your door and…pull your hair. I don’t know, just don’t.

 You can serve it right away, but Randy says it’s better if you let it sit in the fridge, and allow the flavors to marry really well, for a few hours at least.

Enjoy!

Candygram

Dear divemasters of Palau:

This guy was probably 12 feet long.

If there is even a slight possibility that there will be a school of huge sharks circling under the boat, please do your divers a favor and tell them about it before they jump in the water. It’s just good manners.

Coconut-Eating Chickens & Snorkels the Pig

Here’s something I bet you didn’t know: Chickens love coconut. I learned this in Yap. I know chickens aren’t typically discriminating diners. I had chickens when I was a kid, and I saw one eat a piece of string so long once, that it started pooping out one end of the string before it had finished swallowing the other end of it. But, they go really bonkers over coconut. It’s like…chicken nip.

Also learned in Yap, vis-à-vis barnyard animals and coconuts: you shouldn’t park your pig under a coconut tree. This is Snorkels. Snorkels was my friend. Snorkels lived under a coconut tree.

Gentle friends, may you never hear the sound of a coconut falling on a pig. (Don’t worry, Snorkels was okay.)

Tuba

“Sweet Tuba” is not a really nice brass musical instrument. It’s a milky wine made of the fermented sap of a coconut tree. You see Tuba all over Micronesia and the Philippines.

Bottles of Tuba

The Tuba Man has to climb up the tree and hack at the base of the fronds every day to make sure the sap continues to run, so he can gather enough to make Tuba. Tuba comes in sweet, for beginners, or the regular, high-octane variety for the hardened Tubaholic.

Sweet Tuba in a coconut cup.

I only had the sweet version, which is not as lethal, but will still give you a hell of a hangover. The morning after I hung out with the Yapese Tuba guys, I felt like Snorkels after the coconut.

Subterranean Flows

On an island in Palawan, in the Philippines, there’s a deep system of limestone caves, through which one of the longest navigable underground rivers in the world flows directly to the sea.

The mouth of the Underground River, Palawan, Philippines.

UNESCO put it on the World Heritage list in 1999, and in 2012, it was named one of the “New 7 Wonders of Nature” by that group in Switzerland that has appointed itself arbiter of such things. I can see why, too, it’s a pristine and eerie Underworld.

He’s about to snatch my friend’s purse.

The mouth of the river is guarded by a band of extremely larcenous monkeys. Its vast caverns are full of bats, stalagmites and stalactites. They said there were tarantulas, too, but thankfully, I didn’t see any, or I would have jumped out of the boat.

Midget Boxing

If you’ve been watching the news about the vanished Malaysia Airlines jet, you may have noticed reports that the USS Pinckney—a U.S. Navy guided-missile destroyer—was dispatched to assist in the search. It was close by, according to the Pentagon’s official explanation, conducting “training and maritime security operations” in international waters. Well, apparently, by “training and maritime security operations in international waters,” they mean refereeing midget boxing matches over drinks at the Ringside Bar in Manila. Busted!

I have been back home in San Francisco for a week, getting ready to go to Korea tomorrow, and have been trying to cram into one week all the things I’ve been meaning to go do and see in San Francisco for the last 20 years. I’m not sure I made it, but I had some fun trying. A lot of it was cocktail related.

The Lagoon at the Tonga Room. It actually rains!

My third Mai Tai

I finally made it to the Tonga Room, at the Fairmont. It’s a tiki wonderland! You don’t go for the food, trust me. You go for the faux rainstorms and lightening over the lagoon in the middle of the dining room, the swashbuckling decor, and the southern fried Don Ho house band that cranks out 80s tunes on a moving barge in the pool festooned with tiki thatch. The house cocktail is a Mai Tai, served in a coconut with an umbrella, so I had to have…three. It’s a bit of San Franciscana that has to be experienced at least once, kind of like Beach Blanket Babylon.

Tilt-a-Whirl table!

But, I think, the award this week has to go to Straw, on Octavia. Carnival themed fare! Not Carnivale, like in Rio, but carnival, as in carnies and side shows. There’s even a Tilt-a-Whirl car made into a table in the corner, for lovebirds who don’t mind canoodling while consuming their corndogs.

Oh yes, there are corndogs. Mini corndogs, in fact, served on a Wooly Willy plate, with a trio of dipping sauces. Nothing poncey, mind you, it’s liquid nacho cheese, ranch, or mayo and sriracha (which I think is the most genius dipping sauce since Ranch dressing made its debut).

Yes, I ordered it. Don’t judge.

They also serve their burger, The Ringmaster, on a house-made donut bun, which is just…cheeky.

Their cocktails were carnival themed, as well, which was all kinds of fun. Fernando had a Coney Island lager, that had a scary clown face on the label, but my drink took the funnel cake. It was a cotton candy cocktail — check it out!

How much fun is that? It’s made with sparkling something and house made cotton candy, so the flavor and color is different depending on the day. The day I was there, the finished product looked like carbonated Windex, but it was pretty tasty, and went straight to my head, like a good cocktail should.

Dessert Menu

My contribution. That’s me in an airplane. You can tell by the boobs.

I really loved their dessert menus. Not for what the offerings were, oddly enough, although they were fine, and included funnel cakes, of course. But because they were little slam journals, served with crayons, that guests are encouraged to doodle in.

Out of all of the technicolor unicorns, and crayon sketches of various girlfriend’s faces, for some reason, this entry cracked us up. Poor boring John. But, you know me, a challenge is a challenge…. Did I call poor boring John? After that cotton candy cocktail hit my bloodstream, you bet I did.

Oh yes, I did.

And it was boring, because he never even answered the phone. But, you have the number now, you could try….

I was hanging out in Los Angeles last week with my friend Wendy. The weather was perfect, cinematic Southern California summertime glory, so we wandered over to Santa Monica to go to the Pier. One couldn’t ask for a more perfect afternoon. Seventy-four degrees, cornflower blue skies, beautiful, tan, mostly naked people everywhere, gentle zephyrs softly distracting me from the fact that I was getting a sunburn on my pasty San Francisco skin. It was dreamy.

“Get your kicks, on Route….”

I didn’t even have to ask him to do that

Several interesting bits of historical Californiana and pop culture intersect at the Santa Monica Pier and beach. It’s the end point of the notorious Route 66, for one. The original Muscle Beach was located at the Pier’s base, before Venice Beach, just a couple miles south, later assumed the title. And more importantly, multiple episodes of Charlie’s Angels, The Incredible Hulk and Three’s Company were filmed there. Oh yeah…and Baywatch.

Moondoggie and pals, looking for Gidget

He just might be cuter than Paul Newman in “The Sting”

That scene in Rocky III, where Rocky and Apollo are frolicking training on the Beach, was shot on Santa Monica beach. The carousel scene in The Sting? Santa Monica Pier. In fact, the carousel is still there, and still in operation (sans bordello). And don’t forget about Lords of Dogtown!

The Pier at sunset, from Santa Monica Beach

Oh, if you haven’t seen it, Lords of Dogtown is awesome! The acting is passable at best, and Heath Ledger’s bucktooth prosthesis was distracting, but the story is great, and it is set in 1970’s Southern California, which is when/where I grew up, so it really transports me. The astonishing soundtrack alone gets it on my list of perennial faves (along with Pretty In Pink) to tune in to whenever it’s on TBS or WGN as I’m cooking and doing laundry on Sunday afternoon. Plus, you can see Sofia Vergara, before she was well known, make a cameo as an honest-to-goodness Dogtown Chola, as well as Alexis Arquette in drag, of course, twist her ankle and fall off her stilettos trying to get into a limo with Johnny Knoxville, which was clearly not in the script. PS: They were both fabulous.

Surfers practicing their balance skeelz on tightropes

“Dogtown,” of course, is Santa Monica’s nickname–more specifically, the nickname of the grittier south side of Santa Monica, all the way down to Venice Beach, around where the old P.O.P. (Pacific Ocean Park) Pier was, before it burned down, and where 70’s surf and skateboard culture spawned Zephyr Surfboards’ pro skateboard team, the “Z-Boys”: Tony Alva, Jay Adams and Stacy Peralta, among others, i.e., the Lords of Dogtown. So, strictly speaking, Dogtown proper is a smidge south of the Santa Monica Pier, down the skate/bike path a bit toward Venice Beach.

But, there at the base of the Santa Monica Pier, at the site of the original Muscle Beach, is something far more marvelous than the P.O.P. A holy site, of sorts. A place to which every fiber of my being was drawn, as if by gravitational force, in an unplanned mystical pilgrimage.

They seem to have dispensed with the preposition and article…or maybe the “on a” stick came later

I didn’t know why I was being pulled in that direction, down the steps behind the carousel to the sand, as if in a trance. But when I saw it, my arteries vibrated with excitement, and I just…knew. It was the original…Hot Dog On A Stick. The very first one, opened in 1946! Oh yes, gentle friends. It was the place where it all began. To be perfectly honest, I previously had no idea that Hot Dog On a Stick originated at the Santa Monica Pier, but as I stood there, awash in the angelic choir that emanated from the

Did I have one? Why, yes I did.

ancient temple/shipping container-like structure, under the watchful eye of the corndog archangel disguised as a giant pigeon perched on the light fixture over the order window, I had an epiphany (that I immediately confirmed by looking it up on Wikipedia on my iPhone). It was the real deal; the corndog Mecca. So, I did what the devout do, and I got in line to receive my corndog communion.

I had a rough day yesterday, and decided I deserved a corndog, so I popped over to the closest Wienerschnitzel, which is over across the bridge in Alameda.

Two things.

First, they have added the calorie counts to the menu for every item they sell. I do not like this trend. I know…I know…obesity epidemic, informed consumerism, corporate disclosure, blah blah blah. I get it. But, kind of like those warning labels on Windex bottles that say “Do Not Spray In Eyes,” I sort of feel like anyone who actually needs to be told that fast food is high in calories, probably can’t read or understand the warning sign anyway. (And what’s with those signs in the drive-thru about Braille menus available upon request? At the drive-thru! But, I digress….) And, personally, I prefer to have the sin value of my treats remain tucked aside in my peripheral awareness. But that’s me. I suppose I can appreciate the information in another context, where it doesn’t try to sully my corndog-specific indulgences. Actually, the 250 calories disclosed for the classic corn dog at Wienerschnitzel wasn’t a buzz kill for me. I thought it would be worse. If it had been a lot higher, it might have damaged my relationship to them, like when you find out how many past lovers your current paramour has had, and it’s a way bigger number than you imagined….it doesn’t help. I prefer that information remain cloaked in mystery.

Second, you’ll be glad to hear, we can now rest easy that we won’t be left alone with our own thoughts or the conversation of our dining partners for the four and a half minutes it takes to eat a corndog. No, thank goodness, they have added a media experience to the wrapper to keep us entertained and further justify our constant staring into our smartphones. Just scan the bar code, and it pulls up a video with a fascinating tale of corndog history:

Yes, I admit it, I did it. I scanned the code with my phone and watched the video while I was eating. Of course, I did. I was sitting in a Wienerschnitzel in Alameda, by myself, at 1:30 in the afternoon on a Monday. Plus, I was curious about what new corndog fact they might throw down. Turns out, not much. Plus, everyone knows that Wienerschnitzel didn’t invent the corndog; they didn’t open until 1961, and corndogs have been around since at least the 20’s. While I was watching it, all I could think was, how funny would it be to hack the link in their bar code and replace it with this way better corndog video (click here if the embedded video below doesn’t work):

I am notorious for my love of the corndog. They just make me happy. I’m carrying a corndog scepter in the masthead artwork for this site. Corndogs are listed as my religion on my Facebook page. You know how some royal crests feature a screaming eagle with two swords or olive branches clutched in its talons? My crest would have a yodeling penguin clutching two corndogs by the sticks. (Can someone make that happen? Seriously.)

Although I will, on extremely rare occasion, make my own corndogs from something approximating scratch, the effort of it really kind of cancels out the low-maintenance perfection of the whole corndog concept. Not to mention, I am profoundly lazy. Plus, my homemade ones never come out as good as the kind purveyed by carnies and primary-color-polyesther-clad maidens in malls the world over. I know most of the corndog sources in San Francisco, so I don’t have to wait for a county fair or a carnival to roll through town. There are even one or two that deliver, in case of a corndog-related emergency. (Don’t judge…it could happen.)

Accordingly, I’ve been seriously remiss in failing before now to check out Batter Up, an establishment entirely devoted to corndog worship, right here in San Francisco! I’ve actually known it was out there for a while, but for some reason, I didn’t make a beeline straight for it when I heard of it. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought it was too good to be true, or it would be like Hotel California — I would never be able to leave. Who knows.

To be fair, it is way the heck out in the Excelsior District, at the corner of Geneva and Mission, which isn’t exactly on my way anywhere, and, you know, isn’t the prettiest neighborhood San Francisco has to offer. But, I happened to be over in that neck of the woods the other day, running an errand, and so I decided to stop by. I drove past it twice before I realized it was just a window with a little ledge, and not a storefront.

But don’t let the diminutive space mislead you; the menu is quite ambitious. Now, I’m a purist at heart. I don’t really get into high concept corndogs that much. Fancy organic bison basil sausage in herbed tempura batter with a trio of artisinal dipping aiolis? Meh. I prefer the classic. So, when I saw that Batter Up has a kind of “build your own” menu, featuring an impressive selection of sausages and cheeses, I was initially resistant.

As much as I prefer the classic corndog, I do have to tip my hat to Batter Up for their innovations. Not only do they offer the mythical, rarely seen in captivity, “cornbrat” (a corn-battered bratwurst), but they cater to the decisionally challenged. This is a big plus, in my book. If you just can’t make up your mind about whether to order your corndog with, say, a Louisiana hot link or a chicken apple or any of the many other tempting snausages on their daily list, well, you just don’t have to. You can get the Double Play, and have them make it half and half! Half bratwurst, half turkey and sundried tomato. Half garlic herb, half chicken Linguisa. Or, if there’s something seriously wrong with you, half beef, half tofu. Or, go crazy and do half cheese! Half sausage and half cheddar or pepper jack! And if you still can’t decide, order the Triple Play, and put three options on there! Oh….I got so excited, I forgot to turn my nose up at the non-traditional corndogs, and made myself dizzy pondering the possible combinations.

Gooey, cheesey goodness

I ended up ordering the “Big Barry”–part bratwurst, part hot link, with a block of cheese in between to keep the sausage halves from fighting. From the San Francisco Giants graphics on the exterior wall, I’m assuming that this corndog creation is named after Barry Bonds and his giant bat, but I confess I did not verify that. For purposes of this post, we’ll just say that it is, and go with it. Anyway, I swapped out the Barry’s suggested cheddar for pepper jack, I guess, because I thought the Louisiana hot link wouldn’t cauterize my tonsils enough all by itself.

The hot link end of the Big Barry

I must say, it was pretty darned awesome. The batter was perfectly crispy on the outside, just the right thickness, the sausages were juicy and perfectly seasoned, and the cheese in the center was just gooey enough, without running all over the place. In short, I approve. My arteries were not on speaking terms with me after I polished off Big Barry, for sure, but what the heck, I don’t do this every day.

I made quick work of that!

The one suggestion I would make to the owner would be to split the sausage skins lengthwise before dipping the link in batter. The skin on those gourmet sausages can be a bit harder to bite through, and that is fine if you’re eating it on a plate with a fork and knife, but on a stick, not so much. But, it wasn’t a big deal, and would be an easy fix. You could probably just ask the kid at the window to do it for you. I bet he would, he was nice.

Seriously, who charges corndogs?

There’s a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup in there

They have a dessert selection, too, for those who like their confections skewered and deep fried. This fad cracks me up. I always eagerly await the news of what manner of treat is being battered and fried at the county fairs each year, although I seldom indulge. I don’t have a big sweet tooth, really, I just find it entertaining to hear what people will spear and deep fry. Wasn’t last year’s invention deep fried Oreos? Or was that the year before? I can’t recall. I remember deep fried Snickers bars and Twinkies, and what-have-you. Well, such are the offerings of Batter Up’s dessert menu. They do all of the above, plus Kit-Kats, Twix, and…..Gasp!….Reese’s!

Deep fried Reese’s

Okay, I admit it, I tried the deep fried Reese’s. I had to. It’s just so wrong, I figured it had to either be genius or a crime, one or the other. Well, I was wrong, it’s neither. It’s just really good. And it’s small enough to be the perfect couple bites of sweetness to finish off that spicy tower of snausage and cheese, without being too much and making you want to hurl.

Remember what I said about those corndog-related emergencies? Well, not to worry, because, turns out, Batter Up also delivers via grubhub.com. I’m not sure how well those dogs will travel, but I’m going to find out!

UPDATE: Batter Up now allows online ordering on their website (http://batterupsf.com/) for pick-up orders, so you don’t have to wait too long!

I am not sure I endorse the official connection between Corndog Day and the beginning of March Madness basketball stuff, but, as usual, they didn’t consult me. Not that I have anything against it, but I never associated corndogs with basketball, myself. To me, corndogs mean summertime, flip flops, county fairs, lemonade and the occasional trip to the drive-in movies in the back of the wood paneled station wagon in your jammies! And today, anytime I have worked really hard, or done something especially good, or I just feel I deserve a reward or a treat, I say I deserve a corndog! So, today’s the day to treat yourself, and go find an A-Frame Wienerschnitzel or a Hot Dog On A Stick in your local mall, watch those silly girls in the goofy 60s-era polyesther uniforms jump up and down on the lemonade presser, and have yourself an honest to goodness corndog! You deserve it!